His footsteps made a strange sound as he hurried along the stone floor. Sloan and Jane followed. There were six altar niches along each side of the structure. Someone had obviously been a stickler for symmetry. The first, closest to the main altar, had a window that depicted Judas’s betrayal of Christ. The altar beneath it was adorned with a large silver cross. On exact angles from the prayer bench below the altar were two marble sarcophagi or tombs. One was etched simply with a name. John McCawley. The other bore just a first name. Elizabeth. Beneath her name was a tribute. Daughter; the rose of our lives, plucked far too swift, and we left in life, adrift. In Spring she lived, in Spring she remains. There ’til our own sweet release, ’til this life on earth for all shall cease. Beloved child, we’ll meet again, where sorrows end and souls remain.
“It sounds as if she was deeply mourned,” Jane said.
“They say that her father was never the same. He lived as if he’d welcome death every day.”
“It’s amazing he didn’t fall apart completely and lose everything. But, then, of course, she had a brother. Your great-great-great—however many greats—grandfather,” Sloan said.
Emil laughed. “It was my great, great, great grandfather. And he apparently had a wonderful friend as an overseer who’d studied at Harvard. He kept the place going. So this is it. What else can I show you? I mean, you’re guests. You’re free to wander as you choose. And, of course, this was horribly tragic, but you were supposed to be married today. We’ll do anything we can. If you want—”
“We’re just fine,” Jane said quickly. “Will you be joining us at dinner?”
Roth seemed pleased, as if she were giving him an invitation rather than asking a question.
“I’d be delighted. Much better than eating alone,” he said.
“Chef seems busy. Don’t others eat here as well?” Jane asked.
“They do. But when I’m here, I just wind up eating in my room,” he told him. “And, actually, I have some e-mails to answer. Anything else, just knock on my door.”
“We’ll wander here for a minute, if it’s all right,” Sloan told him.
“My house is your house,” Roth told them with a grin.
He left them.
When he was gone, Jane looked at Sloan and asked, “Anything?”
“Quiet as—a tomb. No pun intended, of course.”
She grimaced at him and headed to the grave of Elizabeth Roth. She set her hand on the tomb, trying to feel something of the young woman who had lived such a short and tragic life. But all she felt was cold stone.
Sloan watched her.
She shrugged. “Nothing. But I can’t help but feel that somehow, what’s happened now, with Cally Thorpe and Reverend MacDonald, has something to do with the past.”
“You really think it’s possible that a ghost pushed them both down the stairs?” Sloan asked her, frowning.
“It’s not something that we’ve ever seen. So, no, I don’t. But I can’t shake the feeling that it’s all related.”
“Why?” Sloan asked.
She smiled. “I guess that’s what we have to figure out.”
“Let’s walk to the room,” Sloan said. “Maybe Kelsey and Logan are back and have come up with something.” He reached out and took her hand. “I love you.”
She nodded. “I’m not worried about our lives. I’m just sorry that Marty MacDonald is dead.”
“If we can stop something from happening in the future, at least he won’t have died in vain.”
“Let’s head up,” she said.
* * * *
“There’s no dirt to be found on the Reverend MacDonald,” Kelsey announced. “His church is being draped in mourning, his deacon has sent for an emergency cover priest to take care of Sunday services. There are no allegations of his ever being flirtatious, too close to the children, or involved in any kind of scandal. But we have more reason to think it was just an accident.”
“Oh?” Sloan said.
He was always amazed by the Krewe’s ability to find whatever was needed to make their work go smoothly.
The bridal suite—Elizabeth Roth’s room—actually consisted of a drawing room or outer area, the bedroom itself, two large dressing rooms, and these days, a small kitchenette area. Kelsey had managed to get hold of a work board. With erasable markers, she’d already started lists of what they knew and what they had learned. Staring at lists sometimes showed them what went with some other piece of information in another column. They were gathered in the drawing room, Sloan and Jane curled on the loveseat together, Kelsey at her board, and Logan thoughtful as he straddled a chair and looked at the board.
“Why should we be more prone to think that it was an accident?” Sloan asked.
“I spoke with the reverend’s deacon. He’s been battling a heart condition for a long time. It’s possible he suffered a minor heart attack and fell,” Kelsey said.
“Maybe the M.E. will be able to tell us more from the autopsy. Anything from your end, Logan?” Sloan asked.
“The reverend was well liked. No hint of improprieties or anything along that line,” Logan said. “People were sad. But many of his friends did think he was a walking time bomb. Apparently, a lot of people knew about his condition. And he liked pastries. A woman in the bakery told me that she’d designed a whole line of sugar-free desserts to help him keep his weight down.”
“Okay. No one out to get the reverend.” Kelsey wrote on the board.
“Both Elizabeth and John McCawley are entombed in the chapel,” Jane volunteered. “Along with the rest of the family.”
“The caretaker, Mr. Green, sees the ghosts all the time,” Sloan said.
“But I don’t believe a ghost is doing this,” Jane said flatly. “From what I’ve heard, both Elizabeth and John McCawley were good people—deeply in love. I do, however, have a suspicion that John’s death wasn’t accidental.”
They were all silent.
Kelsey frowned and looked at Sloan.
Sloan spoke to Jane at last. “I don’t know if we’ll ever have an answer to that. Even if we were to meet their ghosts, they might not have known themselves. What we need to figure out is if someone is killing people here now, in the present, and stop them from killing anyone else.”
“Of course,” Jane said. She rose, stretched, and walked over to the board. “Personally, I find our young host to be interesting.”
“You think that Emil Roth pushed the reverend down the stairs?” Kelsey asked.
“No, and I’m not sure why not. Except that he doesn’t seem to be into a lot of family rot. He doesn’t see himself as some kind of a lord of the castle. He’s young and rich and spoiled, and I think he knows it. I’m not even sure that he likes the castle. He definitely doesn’t like Mrs. Avery. He has to keep her here, though. It was part of his father’s will. She’s a distant relative.”
“Ah, the plot thickens,” Logan said dryly. “But why would she kill people?”
“To keep the ghost legend going? Maybe she wants some of the television ghost hunters to come in here. Great publicity for the place,” Jane suggested.
“Logan,” Sloan said, “let’s call the home office and get someone there checking into financials for this place. As far as I can tell, the Roth family has more than Emil could spend in a lifetime, even if he tried wasting every cent of it.”
“There’s no reason for the man to have killed a minister,” Kelsey said.
“Or anyone, really,” Sloan noted. “But, we’ll get a financial check done on the family and make sure. So, anyone get any dirt on the people living here?”
“Not yet. Observation may help,” Sloan said. “We’ll be dining with the master of the house, and I believe dinner is at six.”
“Ah, yes, the wedding feast.” Jane murmured.
“We can still—” Sloan began.
“No, we can’t!” Jane said quickly. “The wedding feast will be fine, without the wedding.”
“Okay, so, just take note her
e. We have a list of everyone in the house or on the grounds at the time of Reverend MacDonald’s death. We’ve decided that the reverend had no outside enemies. We don’t believe Emil Roth is involved, but we’ll keep looking. According to what we learned about Reverend MacDonald, it really seems likely that it was a tragic accident,” Kelsey said.
“And that would be better than the alternative,” Logan said.
Jane rose and walked over to a table where a bottle of champagne sat in a silver bowl of ice with crystal flutes around it. She didn’t make a move to open the champagne. She spun around. “I say we go down for a cocktail hour and keep talking with whoever comes near us.”
“Okay,” Sloan said, rising again.
“Sure,” Kelsey agreed.
“Who knows? Too bad there isn’t a butler here,” Logan said.
“There should have been a butler,” Jane said.
“Because the butler often did it?” Kelsey asked.
Jane smiled. “No, it’s a castle. There should be a butler. But—” Her voice trailed as she looked at Kelsey’s board. “I wish that I believed that Reverend MacDonald just fell. But I don’t.”
“A hunch?” Kelsey asked her seriously.
They tended to pay attention to gut feelings. But, of course, everyone was wondering if Jane wasn’t influenced by the circumstances here at the castle.
“We’ll get images of everyone in the house and send them to the main office,” Sloan said. “They can find out things about the past by just running searches, and it will be much easier for them to do that than us.”
She smiled. “Yes, please. And maybe we can take a walk right before dinner and see if we can chat with any of the locals.”
“The locals?” Kelsey murmured.
“Local ghosts,” Jane said. “Who knows just what they might know?”
Chapter 5
“How is everyone doing?” Emil Roth asked as they entered the Great Hall.
He was there before them and held a crystal decanter of something dark in his hand. He waved it about as they entered. Jane thought he might have been there imbibing for some time.
“Brandy,” he said, “anyone want to join me?”
“Club soda with lime?” Sloan asked him.
“Wise man,” Roth noted. “Since people seem to trip down stairs around here. It’s best to keep a clean and sober mind. I, however, will just crawl up the stairs. It’s hard to trip when you crawl.”
He set down the decanter and poured a soda for Sloan, but as he handed the glass over he was looking at Jane. He shuddered, then smiled. “I’m sorry. So sorry! Really. It’s just you do bear a strange resemblance to Elizabeth Roth.”
“Resemblances can be strange, of course,” Jane said. “But sometimes it just depends on what angle an artist gave to a rendering.”
“You know a lot about art?” he asked her.
“Jane is a wonderful artist,” Kelsey said.
“I’m a forensic artist,” Jane said.
He shuddered again. “You draw or paint dead people?”
“Sometimes. But, sometimes, I paint the living. When they’re missing, if they have amnesia, if we need to get their images out to the public for a reason.”
He gave a slightly sloppy smile. “So you could sketch me?”
“Certainly,” she told him.
“Ah, yes. You could, but would you?” he asked.
“If you wish,” she said.
“How rude of me. A tragic day. It should have been your wedding. And here I am, asking you to sketch me.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Jane said.
“I’ll run up and get your sketch pad,” Sloan offered.
Emil lifted his glass to Sloan. “Don’t run, not on those stairs.”
“I’ll be careful,” Sloan promised.
“Do you need an easel? Is there something else I can get you? Draw what you really see, too, okay? I don’t need to be flattered and I’d like a true image.”
Logan pulled out a chair at the table for Jane as he told Emil, “Jane has a unique talent for catching expressions and what makes a person an individual. I’m sure what you’ll get is honest.”
Jane laughed softly. “I won’t try to be unflattering.”
Emil drew out the chair across from her. “Am I good here? Do you need more light?”
“I’m fine. As soon as Sloan brings down the pad, we’ll be set to go,” she promised.
“Please,” Emil told Logan and Kelsey, “help yourselves to drinks. I believe Chef will send someone in with hors d’oeuvres soon.”
“Thank you,” Kelsey told him. “Jane?”
“Diet cola, thanks,” Jane said.
“Ah, nothing more exciting?” Emil asked her.
“We’re just not feeling all that festive, I guess,” Jane said.
Sloan arrived with her sketch pad and a box of pencils. She smiled and thanked him.
“Ready when you are,” Emil told her.
“I’ve already begun,” she said.
“You’re not drawing.”
“But I am studying your face,” she said softly.
“Ah,” he said. “Should I pose? Lean in? Rest my chin on a fist?”
“No,” she told him, picking up a pencil.
She began to sketch. To her amazement, she thought that it was one of her best, and quickly so. She changed pencils frequently, finding light and shadows. She caught his youth, something of a lost empathy in his eyes, and a world weariness he might not have expected. She also caught a bit of the handsome young Renaissance man. Or, perhaps, a rich kid adrift because he could probably be more than what the world seemed to expect of him. When she finished, she hesitated, looking at him.
“May I?” he asked.
“Certainly,” she told him.
He took the drawing and studied it for a long time. “Could I possibly have this?”
“Of course,” Jane told him.
“May I snap a phone pic of it?” Logan asked him. “It’s really excellent. I’d love to have it, too.”
“Yes, definitely,” Kelsey said.
Mrs. Avery came walking into the room, her lips pursed. She seemed unhappy that Emil appeared to be enjoying his guests. Perhaps she was just unhappy that he was there at all.
“Will you have hors d’oeuvres soon?” she asked politely.
“Yes, we will, Denise. But, first, come here. You must see this!”
“Really, Emil—” Mrs. Avery began.
“Oh, come, come, Denny! Come over here and see this. You must sit, too, if Miss Everett is willing. I’m quite astounded by the likeness she created of me.” Emil said.
“I have business—” Mrs. Avery began.
“Yes, yes, you do. You work for me. Sit for a spell. Jane, will you?” Emil asked.
“If you wish.”
“Will this take long?” Mrs. Avery asked.
“Five minutes,” Sloan said.
Jane thought there was something firm in his voice. He used a tone she knew, though it wasn’t often directed at her anymore. People complied with that tone.
Mrs. Avery sat.
She began to sketch and caught the woman’s high cheekbones and thin lips. Because it seemed that the sketch was coming out a little too harsh, she set a tiny stray curl upon the forehead and down the face. The sketch caught the true dignity of the woman, but softened her as well. Jane was surprised to see Denise Avery’s face as she studied the drawing.
She looked up at Jane with a smile. “That’s really nice. Thank you.”
“And she’ll let you keep it, Denny,” Emil said. “After Logan snaps a pic, that is.”
“I would love to keep it. Thank you,” she said.
Before she could rise, Chef stuck his nose and then his body into the Great Hall. “May I begin with the service?”
“Oh, not until Miss Everett does a sketch,” Mrs. Avery said. “Come, sit!”
Jane looked at Sloan.
He grinned at her with pleasure. Logan, she knew
, would get a snapshot on his camera of every shot. That night, he’d get every drawing, along with names, to their base. Then they’d know if everyone was who and what they claimed to be.
Before they were done, she’d sketched everyone working at the castle except for the two maids who only came in from nine to five—Sonia Anderson and Lila Adkins. Before she finished with everyone, she asked Chef to bring in the hors d’oeuvres. And as he and his assistants, Harry Taubolt and Devon Richard, served the food, Sloan began speaking with them. By the time she was done with her last sketch for the night—that of Scully Adair—it was agreed that they would all—guests, owner, and employees—eat together that night in the Great Hall.
“It’s nice to be together,” Scully told Jane, sitting beside her.
The food was all on the table and they passed things around.
It had all gone surprisingly well.
“Considering the fact that a man died here just hours ago,” Devon Richard said.
“An accident,” Harry said. “It’s awkward, isn’t it? I mean, none of us really new the reverend, so we can’t mourn him as if we lost a friend. And yet, he died here, and we’re having dinner.”
“People still have to eat,” Mrs. Avery said.
“Yes, I know. And work and breathe and go on. It’s just that I feel we should be mourning,” Avery said.
“And things shouldn’t go on as if they were so normal,” Phoebe Martin said. Then she laughed uneasily. “Of course, this isn’t normal. I’ve never dined in the Great Hall before.”
“This is our way of mourning,” Emil Roth said, and they were all quiet for a minute.
“We should say something,” Chef announced. “I mean, it doesn’t feel right. It just doesn’t.”
Sloan stood. He’d wound up across the table from Jane. “Shall we join hands.”
They rose and did as he suggested. Sloan said a little prayer for Reverend MacDonald ending with, “May he rest in peace, a good man. He’ll reside with the angels, certainly.”
“Thank you,” Emil said when he sat.
“The hall is quite something. But, I can see why you like to eat in your room, Mr. Roth, when you’re here alone,” Mr. Green said. Even he had been called in for a sketch and dinner. “Of course, I do remember the days when the family was alive and cousins came from many different places, old aunts and uncles, too. Then, the place was alive with laughter, kids running here and there.”
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